the
wind that exposes a glimpse of our neighbours is greeted by instant
hails from the crow's nest.

Eight bells again! The watch is changed and, with new faces on the
bridge, the length of our long spell is painfully recalled. With
something of envy we note the posts relieved and the men gone below to
their hours of rest. "What a life!" The wail of the guardship's syren
fits in to our mood--_Wh-o-o-owe!_

Quick on the dying note a new syren throws out a powerful reedy blast,
sounding from astern. Thus far on the voyage, with fog so long our
portion, we have come to know the exact whistle-notes of our neighbours,
down to the cough and steam splutter of the older ships. This is new--a
stranger--a musical chime that recalls the powerful tug-boats on the
Hudson. Our New-Yorker troops are quick to recognize the homely note.
"Aw! Saay!" is the chorus. "Lissen! Th' _Robert E. Lee_!"

The rear ships of the convoy now give tongue--a medley of confused
reverberations. No reply comes to their tumult, but a line of American
destroyers emerges from the mist astern and steams swiftly between the
centre columns. There is still a long swell on the sea and they lie over
to it, showing a broad strake of composition. They are bedizened in
gaudy dazzle schemes, and the mist adds to the weird effect. The Stars
and Stripes flies at each peak, standing out, board-like, from the speed
of their carriers. As they pass, in line ahead, a wild tumult of
enthusiasm breaks out among the troops. They join in a full-voiced
anthem, carried on from ship to ship, "The Star-spangled Banner!"

'ONE LIGHT ON ALL FACES'

A SLIGHT lift in the mist, edging from sou'west in a freshening of the
wind, extends our horizon to include all ships of the convoy. With this
modest clearing, the shield of vapour that has cloaked us from
observation since early morning is withdrawn. Although still hazy, there
is sight enough for torpedo range through a periscope, and the
long-delayed zigzag is signalled by the commodore.

There is no time lost in settling to the crazy courses. At rise of the
mist we are steaming through the flat grey sea in parallel columns, our
lines ruled for us by the wakes of our leaders. The contrasts of build
and tonnage, the variegations of our camouflage, are dulled to a drab
uniformity by the lingering mist, and we make a formal set-piece in the
seascape, spaced and ordered and defined. The angle of the zigzag
disturbs our symmetry. As o